


52 Weeks

by Shadow_Belle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Muggling as punishment, paroleofficer!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Belle/pseuds/Shadow_Belle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry begins hearing Gremlins when Pansy enters his office, or so he thinks. Or demented imps that hide his socks, eat his pens, and plot his demise by pairing him with Pansy Parkinson. The Diapered Archer seems to have a plan that includes blue meat, near death, Pansy in hot pants, the Dumblenet and the horrors of a well-witch exam. Snark ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pokeystar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeystar/gifts).



**Title:** 52 Weeks  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Disclaimer:** I disclaim.  
 **Warning(s):** Potty mouth, smut  
 **Author/Artist Note(s):** Okay, so I have to thank Avari for the use of Cupid as “The Diapered One”. Her characterization was totally inspiring. Thanks, xoxo. I hope you like it, Pokeystar!  
 **Beta** Amber  
 **Prompt** Harry is Pansy's parole officer - she was a DE minion (a "secretary" to middle management) and did a couple years at Azkabhan - A condition of release is that she has to live as a Muggle for a year. Hilarity ensues. I would like this to be absurd as possible. No romance necessary, although nice, if you can fit it in. Satire, parody, extreme snark is a good thing.

 **Summary** Harry begins hearing Gremlins when Pansy enters his office, or so he thinks. Or demented imps that hide his socks, eat his pens, and plot his demise by pairing him with Pansy Parkinson. The Diapered Archer seems to have a plan that includes blue meat, near death, Pansy in hot pants, the Dumblenet and the horrors of a well-witch exam. Snark ensues.

 

52 Weeks

Prologue

There was no way she’d ever spent a day in Azkaban. No sodding way. Not with the way her little nose still turned up…

 _That’s just her nose, you git!_

“Did you say something, Parkinson?” Harry slid narrowed eyes to her face. Which was where they should have been to start with, as opposed to taking in the long length of her silk stocking encased legs.

 _She doesn’t mind. That’s why she dressed that way, dolt._

Harry looked at her again, then over each shoulder. Nope, nothing.

“Well, did you say something?”

“No, Potter. I didn’t. Was I supposed to?” She swung her leg back and forth, obviously bored with the whole process.

“Uh, no. I’ll have all of your paperwork together in just a moment and then we can get the ball rolling, so to speak.”

“Whatever.”

He looked back at her nose, turned up so high… like her shite didn’t stink. Harry bet that it had stunk plenty in that tiny, dirty cell in Azkaban. If she’d ever actually seen the inside of the damn thing. She’d gotten more than a few officers fired, flashing that rack…

 _You’d flash yours too, if you had one. To get out of that place._

“Shut up!” Harry growled.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He rustled some papers.

Pansy looked back up at the ceiling.

 _You have to admit, it’s kind of cute. Go on. Admit it. It’s like an adorable little button, that nose. Plus, the bird it’s attached to? Look at that rack again.”_

“Get out of my head!” Harry slammed his fist down on his desk.

Pansy looked horrified. “Potter, are you hearing voices?” She said it slowly, and for the first time turning the full force of her violet gaze on him.

Harry was more horrified than Pansy at the moment because he’d just realized something that everyone else had known for ages.

Pansy was beautiful. Elegant even, clad in her white broom riding habit. The jaunty hat that tilted forward at an angle, a sharp contrast against her black hair. Her slender fingers with their perfectly manicured nails reaching out to touch his hand…

Oh no! Couldn’t have that! Don’t let her touch! He snatched his hand back as if it were already on fire.

Then it was her turn to narrow her eyes. “Alright, I wasn’t going to bite you. I don’t have Azkaban cooties or anything. I thought if anyone would make an effort not to be an ass, it would be the great Saint Potter. I suppose not.”

“If you think that you’re going to manipulate me like you did those other officers, you’ve got another thing coming, girly.”

Harry was usually a very astute individual. His years in the war, all of his training, made his senses more alert, more acute.

Apparently not when it came to witches.

It was like Zeus’ Thunderbolt when it hit him. Or Merlin, maybe Thor’s Hammer. It cracked him across the face, turning his head with the force of it, the kinetic energy forcing him to his feet and causing him to jump back from the desk.

And it was only her little hand. Her enraged little hand, but a little witch’s hand nonetheless.

Harry was impressed. Not with her slap (punch) but with the fact that he managed not to cry out like a boy still in short pants.

“You do know that striking a Law Enforcement Officer while he is conducting the official duties of his office can get you another stint in Azkaban, right?”

Her ripe and deliciously red, voluptuous mouth fell open in a neat little “o” of horror.

“If you strike me again, I will knock you on your de-” he paused. “Derriere.”

 _You were about to say “delectable” weren’t you? Weren’t you? Ha. Talk about inappropriate._   


Harry was considering ripping out his hair. Or maybe shoving that pencil through his ear to make that voice shut the bloody hell up. Not only was it distracting, and a sign that perhaps he was losing his mind, but it was right. That was the part that he couldn’t stand.

“Now, on to business. It looks like the conditions of your parole state that you must live as a Muggle for one year.”

Pansy’s mouth fell open again and her fingers fluttered like drunk butterflies to her chest where they flitted for a moment.

“It’s not going to kill you.” Harry muttered before her elegant pose just melted. Her knees seemed to knock together and she fell out of her chair.

It wasn’t one those really pretty maiden faints either. It was ugly. It was like someone had taken the stick out of her arse and it was the end of the world. Which for her, Harry supposed it must be.

“Bugger,” he muttered. Maybe it had killed her.

He watched her over the top of the desk and when she made no move to get up; he figured he’d better check on her. If she’d actually died of shock, or fright, or whatever, there in his office, that might look just a bit a bad.

And he would feel more than a bit guilty.

He moved from around the desk and rolled her over on to her back and leaned over her.

 _Yeah, kiss her. Right now. Kiss her!_

“Shut the hell up!” Harry growled again. There was no way that he was going to kiss her, but he was going to have to touch his mouth to hers.

 _That’s a kiss, retard._

“CPR, stupid.”

Now, he was arguing with the voice in his head. Just bloody perfect.

Yeah, magic was fantastic, but nothing could take the place of good old CPR. The hands- on had a higher success rate in practical studies.

He swept her mouth with his finger and then pinched the nostrils of her upturned nose together before forming a seal over her mouth with his own.

Harry blew three breaths, and getting no response, he began chest compressions.

He couldn’t help but notice that his fingers were brushing the edges of her breasts and he had visions of turning that very innocent CPR session to a full on make-out session.

But for the fact that she was unconscious.

“Great, I’m a sex-offender in training. Fucking fantastic.”

He formed the seal over her mouth again, and she coughed, (Thank Merlin!) spitting up something into his mouth. (Not so thankful now.)

It was her spit. At least she hadn’t eaten anything that she could have shared with him this way before she came.

 _You swapped spit, it’s a kiss._

Her black lashes opened and she stared up at him. “Potter, you saved me.”

“Yeah. I guess I did.” He said, his chest puffing out just a bit.

She slapped him again.

At least this one wasn’t a slobber-knocker.

“What the hell?”

Those fey violet eyes welled up with tears. “You should have let me die. I can’t live as a Muggle.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but felt his heart constrict as one, lonely, and obviously scripted tear slipped down the pale curve of her cheek.

He gathered her up in his arms and,

 _Kiss her! Have your way with her!_

And, sat down; hauling her up against him and petting her hair like he did to Ron’s spawn. “There, there. It will be alright. You won’t actually die. C’mon. It’s not so bad.”

“You have to help me,” she sniffed indelicately.

He was sure that she’d drawn a very large snot trail up the side of his shirt.

“I’m your parole officer, it’s my job to help you. Now, off my lap before someone can say I was inappropriate or you can use this as an excuse to bring me up on charges of sexual harassment.”

 _Way to kill the moment, dumbass._

Harry was going to find out who was talking to him and he was going to beat him black, or until blue monkeys flew out of his arse sideways. Whichever made him feel better.

“Gods, Potter.” She climbed off of his lap and back into her chair. “Why do you see everything I do as a manipulation? Do you know how long it’s been since… Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. When do I have to start this hell? I’d rather go back to Azkaban.” She was all business in the time it took her to smooth her skirt with her wand.

“I will give you three days to spend with your family and settle your affairs. Be back here on Friday.”

“I’ll see you Friday.”

“And Parkinson,”

“Yes, Potter?”

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

He could see her wheels turning already. “Yeah. It won’t get you sent back to Azkaban. It’ll add time to your Muggling.”

“I won’t. I’ll be here.”

He watched as she left and as soon as the door was closed he slammed his hand down on his desk.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

She hadn’t expected him, to say the least. Especially not that fire that shot through her when he’d touched her.

When his mouth had closed over hers, she’d been very aware of his fingers on her chest and this inane hope had surged that his touch would be something more. And when she’d found herself in his lap, pressed against his broad chest, well, her breath had caught in her throat and she didn’t want to leave her perch because her knees had turned to jelly and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand on her own.

He’d strangled the mood with a wire garrote when he’d been so derisive, so wholly unaffected by her charms.

Which was completely unacceptable.

She could manage as a Muggle for a year. She knew it wouldn’t kill her, but she’d choked on her spit…

Well, hello? Of course he’d been unaffected, she’d spit up like a cranky rug-monkey into his mouth. Eww.

Potter was in for something and he had no idea. Pansy had a plan. She always functioned at her very best when she had a plan…

Pansy smiled all the way back to the halfway house.

 **Week 1**

Pansy had decided that she could do this, this Muggling. After all, they did it. Muggles.

And she was smarter than a Muggle. Either that, or all of the things that she’d been brought up to believe, all of the things that she had seen were wrong. Which would mean Pansy’s whole world was wrong and she couldn’t process that. So, logically…

For her first meeting with Officer Potter, she was going to cook. A lovely duck roast with an orange-berry sauce.

Officer Potter, her mind wandered. She definitely liked the way that sounded. He’d been wearing a very crisp uniform that had clung to his shoulders just like she wanted to. Harry Potter had to be the only wizard, hell the only male to ever make the do-gooders look sinfully good.

Sure, Draco was drool worthy, but his rich bad-boy act was so passé. Been there, done that, got the ring, gave it back.

Pansy even liked to say “Officer Potter”. It made her feel like she’d been a bad girl and he was going to use his handcuffs and his (giggle) night stick… oh yeah. Officer Potter.

She looked down to realize that she’d dumped the whole bag of blueberries into her duck sauce while waxing poetic about Potter.

Yeah, he’d been demoted to Potter now. He’d mucked up her first attempt at cooking with his git self being on her mind.

She stomped her foot. As if that would do her any good, which it didn’t. There was nothing for it but to continue on. She didn’t have enough time to walk, dear Merlin, _walk_ back down to the market.

Maybe she could convince him that it was supposed to be a blueberry sauce? He was Potter, after all. He’d try a bite no matter if it looked like shite on a shingle.

 **Week 2**

Harry had heard nothing else from The Voice that had been driving him through his first meeting with Pansy Parkinson as her Parole Officer.

He wasn’t sure which disturbed him more, that he had been hearing a voice that wasn’t there, or it was real and he couldn’t find the source of the damn thing. There could be demonic imps following him around and tweaking his life, stealing his socks, losing his combs, eating his pens, and trying to set him up with Pansy Parkinson.

Oh, the hellish implications!

It was bad enough that he remembered vividly what her lips had felt like beneath his, what her body had felt like when he’d has his hands on her…

Then, she’d cooked. He had to admit, he who had faced the Dark Lord had been afraid. He remembered Ginny’s first attempt at cooking and she’d said to be honest with her little Gin-Bug smile on her cute face and saints help him, he had.

Harry had been picking feathers out of his nose for two weeks. Not little downy baby bird feathers, but condor feathers from a full-grown male with a wingspan of about…

Anyway, Pansy had presented him with a nice chardonnay and a slice of blue meat with whole baby red potatoes with some slender, French cut green beans.

Yeah, the meat had been blue. His first thought had been “punk roast?” Sid Vicious would be more appropriate with this dinner than _La Donna E Mobile_. He’d managed to contain that thought from running the highway from his brain to his mouth. It was the reminder of the feathers that had successfully erected that roadblock.

She’d smiled so eagerly, so hopefully that he’d had to take a bite.

Right before he’d put it in his mouth, he wondered if she was trying to poison him, if he was going to fall over dead…

Then, the chair leg broke right out from under him and promptly dumped him on his arse. Which promptly jammed that blue meat in his throat.

At the horrified look on Pansy’s face, Harry knew that he was going to die. There. On the floor. With blue meat in his throat.

He’d laid down and waited for it to be over. He knew there was no way that Pansy Parkinson had deigned to lower herself to learn CPR, the Heimlich…or any of that “Muggle Nonsense”.

That’s when it happened.

She had her arms around him and was hauling him up, sticking her finger in his mouth, forcing the un-chewed food down his throat.

It hurt like hell all the way down.

But he was breathing, with the faint taste of blueberry duck on his tongue. With a hint of orange. Rather tasty…

“I guess we’re even. Thanks.” Harry had spluttered.

“I know I didn’t do it right. Maybe you could teach me?”

Harry watched her carefully. She looked sincere. He pulled himself back up into the seat next to him.

“Yeah. Sure. While we’re at it…furniture shopping. Sturdy is better than pretty.”

“That remains to be seen.” She’d promised.

 **Week 3**

Pansy had always held her little pug nose up in the air like her shite didn’t stink.

Why? Not because she was from a Pure Blood family. (She was.) Not because she had more money that Merlin. (She did.) But because it didn’t. Stink that is.

It smelled like, well, Pansies.

She’d been magically charmed at birth for all of her parts and excretions to be pleasant. A gift to her mother from a darling old dear of a fairy godmother.

And since we are sharing secrets, she’d been named Prunella Parkinson, but after her first full, firm, and fully packed diaper her mother had insisted on changing her name to Pansy. Not that she’d ever, under pain of torture, admit that where anyone could hear her.

The problem? Well, she’d still been eating leftovers from her signature Bleu Duck that she’d made two weeks ago and she was having the most horrible and not to mention offensively loud diarrhea.

It really would be better not to mention it. Not that she had to. It announced itself like the roar of those Muggle engines in the horse-less carriages. The really big ones that they used to haul stuff. Yes, her heart-shaped arse was roaring like a muffler impaired semi-truck.

The stench, holy hell! Her eyes bugged out of head as she grabbed onto the sides of the loo for support and they darted around like frightened sparrows looking around for a repository just in case puffing out her cheeks and gritting her teeth didn’t keep the blue roast on its proper course of out, instead of *swallow* up.

This would have been infinitely easier to deal with if Harry Potter hadn’t been standing out in the living room of her smallish flat.

“Uh, Pansy?”

“Yes?” She managed her most polite voice as another roar from her rump rattled the rafters.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“I didn’t think so. I actually came by to tell you, in case you didn’t know, that you can’t eat Muggle leftovers for as long… You aren’t still eating on that roast are you?”

“Not at the moment, no.” Pansy growled.

“Okay, smartarse. You know what I meant.”

“I had some for lunch.”

“I hate to point out the obvious, but leftovers that old will give you the fire-shites or worse.”

“It still tasted good.” Pansy whimpered.

“I’ve got something in my attaché. Hold on.”

“I am!” Pansy cried as her knuckles went white with her grip and a fiery stream shot from her already abused bottom.

“I’m going to leave it on the table.”

“I can’t get off the loo,” Pansy mumbled helplessly.

“What?”

“It won’t stop.”

Harry looked skyward, as if for direction from on high. Not receiving any, he sighed. “I’m coming in.”

“Oh no!” Pansy yelped.

“Oh GOD!” Harry cried as the greenish-blue cloud crept into his nostrils.

Harry tossed the bottle of Pepto in her general direction and fled, slamming the door behind him.

“The directions are on the bottle.”

“Could you, um, go?”

“Sure. Yeah. Okay.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s just forget this, please?”

“Already done.”

Too bad this horror would live on in infamy every time Pansy looked at him because though he was a gentleman, she was sure that Harry would never, ever forget the Rumble in the Jungle that had been Pansy’s loo.

 **Week 4**

Harry had decided that he wasn’t going to mention the previous week. In fact, he was going to put it out of his head and he wasn’t even going to think about it.

He straightened his tie and knocked on the door.

Pansy let him in without a word and he sat down on her couch without waiting to be asked. It was awkward, yet familiar.

“How are you this week? Any questions? Any problems?”

“No, I’m doing well, I think.”

“You think?” Harry raised a brow at her over his glasses.

“I bought a pooter.”

Harry was glad he hadn’t been drinking the tea that Pansy always had on the table for him when he came. He would have spit it all over, or he would have tried to kill himself again by choking to death.

“Pardon?” His earlier vow to forget everything evaporating like…well. Anyway. A pooter? Harry was biting down on his lip so hard to keep from laughing that he was sure it was going to bleed.

“You know! A pooter?” She said it as if he were the stupidest of Merlin’s creatures. “A Comp Pooter? Supposedly, they are getting them at Gringott’s.”

Harry let out a breath and released his lip from behind his teeth. “Oh, Pansy.” He took a deep breath. “It’s a computer.” He grinned.

“Well, whatever. I can have it, can’t I?”

“Why couldn’t you?” Harry was perplexed.

“Well, I was thinking I could do my banking with Gringott’s online and maybe talk to my family since I can’t see them and living as a Muggle would preclude Flooing…so would it also preclude the Dumblenet?”

“Theoretically, yes. But I’m going to allow it. You’re trying, so I see no reason why not. I will be monitoring your activity though.”

Pansy had thought for sure that he wouldn’t let her have the Dumblenet. After all, she was supposed to be sans wizarding everything. She smiled.

“As I said, you seem to be making progress. Better than I expected. You’re learning to use Muggle technology, cooking… I think we can scale back your home visits to every two weeks.”

Pansy was actually unthrilled, if such a thing were possible. Not only was she not thrilled, but the thrill; the elation that she’d felt previously had been sucked right out of her. Yes, un-thrilled, indeed.

“This is a good thing. Why do you look like you’re sucking on a lemon?”

Maybe Pansy was doing a bit too well at this Muggling. Or worse, maybe Potter just wanted to get away from her. He hadn’t even asked her where she’d gotten the money for her comp-pooter.

He was going easy on her just so he wouldn’t have to deal with her! That purple-headed, forked-tongued womb ferret!

“See you in two weeks.” Pansy turned and went into the loo and slammed the door so hard it popped back open to which her response was to slam it again.

Harry was left standing alone in the living room with the tea and his confusion.

“Are you okay?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, not after last week. Then he felt bad, he’d promised her that he would forget and promised himself that he wasn’t going to think about that.

His only response was another door slam.

Well, she obviously wasn’t stuck on the loo holding on for dear life. That was a comfort to them both, he was sure.

“Uh, my Dumble-Chat is BroomedBobby if you need anything between now and our next visit.”

Harry ducked just in time to see a toothbrush holder flying at his head like a demented snitch. He caught it easily and set it down on the table, not understanding that it was the crash that was pleasant to those witches that liked to throw things when frustrated.

When the full bottle of mouthwash came hurtling next, Harry muttered something about temperamental witches and exited as quickly as possible.

 **Week 6**

DiaperedArcher: Are you going to email her, or what?

BroomedBobby: Email who?

DiaperedArcher: Pansy, you dolt.

BroomedBobby: Who is this?

DiaperedArcher: I thought you had to be able to read to be a parole officer?

BroomedBobby: Well, yes. I see that you are the Diapered Archer, whatever the hell that means. I have to say, I would never admit to being diapered. Are you even old enough to be on the Dumblenet all by yourself?

DiaperedArcher: Here we go again.

BroomedBobby: I can find out, you know.

DiaperedArcher: Yes, yes. We’ll come back to that. So are you? Going to email Pansy? It’s been two weeks.

BroomedBobby: If I say yes, will you sod off?

DiaperedArcher: Maybe. But most likely not. You still need my help.

BroomedBobby: No, I really don’t.

DiaperedArcher: Says you.

BroomedBobby: Exactly.

DiaperedArcher: Just chat with her for a minute.

BroomedBobby: I would, but I don’t have her Dumble-Chat ID.

DiaperedArcher: What happened to “I can find out”?

BroomedBobby: What happened to “you need help”?

DiaperedArcher: Alright! Zeus’ Crispy Old Crunchy Arse, but you are difficult.

BroomedBobby: Back at you.

DiaperedArcher: QuidditchQuim1.

BroomedBobby: You’ve got to be kidding.

DiaperedArcher: Yeah, I am. It’s PrettyPansy.

BroomedBobby: Make with the sodding of the off.

DiaperedArcher: Fine, fine. You better be nice, or you’ll be hearing my voice again.

BroomedBobby: We’ll have none of that.

DiaperedArcher: That’s what I thought. Get to typing. I can see you, ya know.

BroomedBobby: I didn’t, but thanks for sharing. So do you watch me on the Dumblenet all the time?

DiaperedArcher: If I said I did, would it make you stop whatever it is that you’re asking me if I’ve seen?

BroomedBobby: Nope. If you watch, you deserve what you get.

DiaperedArcher: Are you going or what?

BroomedBobby: Are you?

DiaperedArcher: DiaperedArcher has signed off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Week 8**

He’d been chatting with Pansy off and on for the last two weeks. It’d surprised him how funny she was. She always had a quick and not to mention snarky reply for everything. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she’d always been that way or if this was a new facet of her personality. He found that he wanted to know. Not just that, but everything. For a witch that had been born with a silver spoon up her arse, she was surprisingly pragmatic.

It was time for another home visit and Harry was just a little nervous as he combed his hair.

He was nervous that he was going to cross the line. He was nervous that he’d already crossed the line. Hell, he was really nervous that he just didn’t care when he stripped it all bare. He knew he was on a slippery slope and that didn’t stop him from continuing to tra-la-la down the primrose path.

Harry was going to take her to the cinema. She’d never been.

It would be dark. In essence, they would be alone. And not to mention, the cinema was notorious for snogging teenagers.

Not that he was a teenager, or anything. And not that he wanted to snog her. Well, not that he planned on snogging her. He was a professional, after all.

He checked his reflection in the glass of the phone booth outside her flat before casually making his way to her door.

“You’re not in your uniform?”

“Not today.”

“Oh.” It was a decidedly disappointed sound.

Harry wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly, but forged ahead, storing it away to chew on later. “I thought you might like to try the cinema.”

“I would love to! I’m so glad you asked. I didn’t want to go by myself, but it seems too fascinating to pass up. Let me grab my purse.”

Pansy snatched her purse off of the table and linked her arm with his as all debutantes were taught to do with their escorts and smiled. “You do look nice in your Muggle clothes, Officer Potter.”

“You look nice as well.” He said casually, though he hadn’t expected her in denims. Tight, form-fitting, delicious arse-hugging denims.

Gods, but that woman had a shape to her!

The way her tee shirt clung to her breasts, he could see the lacy edges of her bra if he stared hard enough. Which he was…

And the sassy little click of her boots seemed to accentuate the way her hips swayed when she walked.

Perhaps the cinema was a bad, bad, bad thing?

 **Week 10**

She’d thought for sure that he was going to kiss her in the cinema. Hell, she’d been waiting expectantly through the whole thing. Pansy couldn’t even tell you what movie that they had gone to see, she’d been so completely focused on the man with her.

Now, if you asked her, she wouldn’t be able to answer just why she wanted him so badly. Because Pansy wanted more from him than just a shag. Not that she wouldn’t settle for a night and a day of good fucking…

No, that’s not true. She wouldn’t.

Morganna’s teeth! She wanted more. She did. She wanted to know him, she wanted to see inside of him and find out what made him so bloody good. And she wanted to know what it was like to be loved by such a man.

Even though, she was plotting his corruption even as she thought about his goodness. After all, how could he reasonably be with her after her crime? Well, the wizarding world is a small place, they had to forgive and forget. Or, she’d burn that bridge when she got to it.

Pansy hadn’t really wanted the arm rest, but she’d wanted to be close to him, wanted to be touching him. Polite git that he was, he’d moved his arm. Draco would have just let her touch him, figuring that not only the seat, but the whole goddamn theater belonged to him.

Potter’s goodness just meant that she’d have to get a little bit more creative.

They’d whispered throughout the movie, as there was only one other couple there. She couldn’t remember what it was that he’d said, but when she’d turned her face up to him to answer, their mouths had been precarious seconds apart.

His eyes had narrowed in on her mouth, they’d darkened like a cold and churning sea, yet there had been nothing cold about him. Heat flared and his fingers had ghosted down her cheek, his index finger tilted her chin up and for a moment, they’d shared a breath, then the lights had exploded to brutal and bright life as the credits were over.

He’d dropped his hand, gathered their snack carcasses and acted as if nothing had happened. There had been no apology, no regret, but no act to continue either. As if it just hadn’t happened.

Pansy had never been so frustrated in all of her life.

“Thinking about Saint Potter, are you?”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Cupid. Who do you think?”

“You seem to have fallen down on the job there, oh Diapered One.”

“Look, I can lead a horse to water, but I can’t make him drink.”

“Yes, yes you can. Shoot the damn arrow and be done.”

“I already did. It doesn’t seem to be taking.”

“Are you serious?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Probably. Are you sure that you’re Cupid and not Satan?”

“If I was Satan, I would have shot the arrow at you and not at him. As it is, you’re both pretty good at dodging the damn things. Almost like you know. You don’t, do you?”

“No, if I had, I would have dodged it, like you said...”

“Well, kiddo, he’s your soul-mate. So, arrow, no arrow. Now, or later. It’s all the same.”

Pansy sighed a heavy and oh-so dramatic sigh as she flopped on her bed.

“You know, if it helps, you’re taking this much better than he is. He still thinks he’s hearing voices.”

“That was you?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Are you sure I’m going to forget about you when this is all over?”

“Yep.”

“You’re kind of cute. For being a demon imp from hell. Nice shoulders…”

“Don’t tempt me, witch.”

“That sounds like a line from one of those Muggle romance novels.” She raised a brow.

“Woman, use your powers for good. Or for corrupting Saint Potter, whichever.”

“Then go away and let me.”

Pansy didn’t even wait for him to leave. She flipped open her laptop. (Which was so much easier to say.)

PrettyPansy: Are you on?

BroomedBobby: Yep.

PrettyPansy: Want to come over for coffee?

BroomedBobby: I suppose you want me to bring the coffee?

PrettyPansy: Well, yes. But I baked. Cookies. Big, fat chocolate chip ones…

BroomedBobby: Leaving now.

Pansy flipped the laptop closed and smiled.

 **Week 12**

Harry couldn’t deny that their relationship was inappropriate. Not that anything had happened, but he knew it was going to. Even if he hadn’t had that certainty, it would still be wrong. They’d become friends, which was more than parole-er and parolee.

He wanted to have her assigned to someone else, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She needed him. He was sure that with Ron or Neville, she’d not have done as well. They would be too easily entrapped by her smile and her…

Not to say he wasn’t, but… it was just different.

She’d made it a fourth of the way through, he thought that called for a small celebration. Dinner.

Even though if this were Goyle, there was no way in all of the seven hells that… Yes, he would. In fact, it was a new, personal policy. Positive reinforcement and whatnot.

“Do you know what today is?” he said as soon as she opened the door.

“Three months!” she squealed and threw her arm around him.

He caught her easily and returned her hug, but his genuine happiness for her and her enthusiasm quickly changed into something else.

Something that was akin to throwing a fireball at a straw hut.

She fit against him so perfectly, her dark curls against his cheek that smelled like sugar cookies and the flare of her hips that seemed to call to his hands to span her waist and… Her breasts so soft against the hardness of his chest.

Pansy pulled away with a deliberate slowness, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she looked up into his eyes, but when she should have continued her retreat, she stopped. Pansy tilted her chin up just as his fingers had guided her to do that night at the cinema and her breath caught in her throat.

It was almost as if they didn’t breathe, that time would stop. This moment, gravid with possibility would hang frozen in eternity with no demands forward, and no regrets looking back.

Pansy wasn’t satisfied that the whole goddamn universe had stopped for them. She wanted more. And she wanted it now.

Pansy was a witch of many talents. She knew just what he needed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her lips softly to his cheek and pushed her body flush against his; every inch of her as close to him as she could get.

His hands tangled in her hair, his every movement graceful yet so determined, as if he were moving through water to get to her.

Then reality splintered their idyll, crashing in on them with waves of sensation when he wrapped her hair in his fist and angled her head back, his mouth slamming into hers; all of their angles contrasted; hard against soft, male to female and finally predator to prey.

She melted against him, pliable to his every whim. Pansy arched her back, dared him to take more, needed him to take more. In the taking, he was so generous in the giving.

His every touch flooded her with heat, her skin seeming to exist only for their mutual pleasure.

Harry pushed her up against the doorframe and braced her there, guiding her legs to wrap around his waist while his mouth ravaged her.

“Oi! Don’t you know children live in this building? Shut yer bleedin’ door, tart!” A loud voice jostled them from their idyll.

Pansy was ready to scream and shot daggers of doom over his shoulder with her eyes. She thought for sure that the moment had been broken, smashed, murdered… But Harry just held her tight against him and slammed the door with his free hand.

He held her aloft as if she weighed nothing, moved her and shaped her limbs to his will. It was intoxicating.

Pansy forgot all about the storm of destruction she’d planned to reign down on the neighbor cow for her interruption.

Harry was powerful now, his lust made him bold. Or perhaps that had always been there and she’d just never seen it, but she loved it. He was vital and elemental, yet as she ran her hands over the expanse of his now naked shoulders, she could still feel that gentleness in him; that he wanted to give her pleasure, not just take it.

He was inside of her now, stretched her, filled her.

The first thrust slammed the headboard into the wall. Pansy couldn’t help the satisfied and devious smile that crossed her mouth. That heifer had told them to shut the door, well that bad-boy was shut now!

He grasped her hips to anchor her to him and Harry thrust again, deep and hard. Pansy cried out the intensity of the sensation and Harry, ever the gentleman, continued to give her what she was so desperately pleading for.

The headboard continued to try and burrow its way through the wall, with Pansy clinging to Harry, arched against him and urging him for more.

He slid his fingers between them to her clit and just as he felt her velvet walls clench and her nails dig into his back, he also felt a brick hit him in the back of the head.

His vision started to go dark, yet he tried to maintain. He had to maintain, at least until Pansy finished crying out to Merlin, Pan and Cupid.

Why didn’t witches ever say the name of the wizard they were shagging? Why was it always “oh Merlin”. It should have been “oh Harry!”

Pansy’s whole body went rigid and she was still clinging to him when he disengaged himself rather abruptly and fell on his back.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered closed was the grinning, stone face of a demonically cherubic, diapered git with a bag full of arrows.

“Harry? Harry!” Pansy snapped breathlessly. She knew that he’d gotten her off first; that he hadn’t…

She sat up to see the stone masonry that she’d so painstakingly anchored to her wall above her bed had popped right off and tagged Harry right in his hapless melon.

Pansy leapt into action, checked Harry for bleeding, and there wasn’t too awful much, but enough to be of concern. She hopped from the bed, looking for her bra. Pansy was so focused on getting help for Harry that she didn’t see that her bra was right next to the bed and in turn, didn’t notice that she’d caught the straps around her ankles.

The next step she took dumped her right on her face and she hit her head on the elegantly carved, yet sharp-edged dresser.

“Holy Shit Balls, but you’re both half-retarded.” A disembodied voice mumbled. “Either the sex was that good or,” he trailed off.

It was actually Cupid’s fault, this disaster. She’d invoked his name during sex, which meant he had to come. He laughed. Come. Back to the issue, he admonished himself as he straightened his loin cloth. (It wasn’t a diaper.) Anyway, he had to come until she said what she wished of him, but she didn’t know that. So, he’d sort of helped that stonework of himself right off the wall. Of course, he hadn’t been trying to _kill_ anyone.

“I think you have mucked this up quite enough, young man.” A stern voice admonished.

“Mother,” the cherub rolled his eyes.

An image shimmered, yet didn’t quite become corporeal. “If you leave them alone, they will manage quite nicely.”

“It just takes them so long!” Cupid stomped his baby foot. “And why does your presence always revert me to this form!”

“Because you’ll always be my baby.” A soft voice echoed like a summer breeze. “Someone has to put you in your place anyway, running around all golden and broad shouldered.”

“You’re fucking with my Chi when you do that.”

“Yes, yes. I know darling.” Then she made with the Goddess of Doom Voice. “I mean it though, leave them alone now. Do not make me come down there again. Their babies will be important figures in the tapestry of Fate.”

“Yes, Aphrodite.” His little bow mouth curled into a sullen pout.

“And Cupid,”

“Yeah?”

“You’re diaper is crooked.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Week 16**

Pansy hadn’t seen Harry since The Incident. She wasn’t quite sure what to do about it either.

When she woke up, he’d been gone. He hadn’t answered any of her emails, not her calls to his office either.

She’d received a letter in the mail stating that due to her “progress” that she only required monthly visits at this point and to call if she needed anything. Well, damn it. She did need something, and she had called.

Oh, and better yet? That little memo was signed by his _secretary_! He hadn’t even signed it himself.

Pansy couldn’t be mad at him, though. She understood. He’d crossed an un-crossable line for someone in his profession. She had to admit, that line had been crossed when they first laid eyes on each other in his office that day. The tension between them had been palpable.

She’d almost killed him numerous times, and this last incident, she’d almost killed herself. She had no idea how they made it back up on to the bed. The last thing she could remember was the edge of that dresser coming at her head like a torpedo and then nothing.

“Cupid, you douche-hat!” she mumbled.

“Is that like an arse-hat?”

“No. It’s worse. What the hell?” she demanded, with her hands on her hips.

“Look, ducks. You’re on your own.”

“Oh, now I’m on my own? Now, when I actually,”

He cut her off with a finger against her lips. “Mother’s rules,” he shrugged.

“Then she can get down here and help me. After all, you’re the one who,” This time it was his whole hand against her mouth.

“Yeah, not so much.”

She licked at his fingers to make him let go and he made a face.

“Eww. That was nasty.”

“I know.” Pansy grinned. “Stop putting your hand over my mouth.”

Then she noticed his shoulders didn’t seem so broad, in fact, he was shorter than she was. His hair was shortening into ringlets and…

He was suddenly the cutest baby that she’d ever seen!

Cupid looked down at himself. “Just fucking great.”

“You stop that. Come here.” She scooped him up and nestled him against her hip, just like a real baby and he put one of his arrows in his mouth. Which she promptly snatched away from his chubby fingers.

“Damn it.”

“What did I say about that? No.”

Pansy felt a warmth in her belly and it spread like a languid wave throughout her body.

“Cupid, you’ve been a bad, bad boy.”

A woman, ethereal and golden stood in Pansy’s room, her hair billowing around her as if in a perpetual breeze. She held out her elegant arms for Cupid and Pansy didn’t even consider not handing him over.

“I really need him.” Pansy said, meaning Cupid.

“You’re going to be alright.”

“I know. I’m a Parkinson. I will always be ‘alright’. What I mean is,” she tried to be a bit more respectful as honey would catch more flies, or more of Aphrodite’s good nature. “Cupid broke it, so he should fix it, right?”

“It’s not broken, darling. Just a little tangled. You’re a smart witch, you’ll figure it out.”

Aphrodite and Cupid seemed to move through her and she caught the scent of apples just as an idea struck her and they disappeared.

 **Week 20**

“Pansy Parkinson called for you again.”

“Tell her I’ll call her back.” Harry said to Ginny, his new secretary.

“No. Because you won’t. Then I look like a big, fat liar.”

“Look, things happened and,”

“I don’t give a shite what happened. You’re still her parole officer, aren’t you? Then stop being a cunny about it and deal with her.”

“What’s got your knickers in a knot?”

“She doesn’t know anyone but you. She hasn’t made any Muggle friends and she can’t have contact with her family other than the Dumblenet. She has to go to a Muggle healer for something and she’s scared. You’re being a gitty arse!”

“A healer? What’s wrong with her?”

“She wouldn’t tell me and I wouldn’t expect her to.”

“Alright. I’ll call. I will.”

“You better.”

“I’m supposed to be your boss, you could try a little respect.”

His only answer was a snort that sounded like a wet, truffle seeking pig.

He felt like something akin to fear when he dialed her number and a big, cherub-faced brick in his gut as it rang.

“Hello?”

“This is Harry. I got your message.” Like he didn’t get the other 68 that she’d left. He cringed.

Pansy took it in stride. “I’ve made an appointment with a healer, I mean doctor. I’d really like you to go with me. It’s a few weeks from now. We could knock out the home visit and the appointment all in one day.”

“Sure, Pansy.” He took a breath. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. I think so. I’m just a little nervous about going. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, or… Muggles still make me twitchy, you know?”

“So, if I can ask, what are you going to be seen for?”

“Well, I wanted to get started on some birth control. I need to get laid and if I have to settle for shagging Muggles then I really don’t want to breed with them.”

Harry choked.

Pansy was very proud of herself. The whole “getting laid” thing almost got stuck on her tongue, but she’d managed it nicely. If he didn’t want her, well, she’d let him see that she wasn’t going to sit at home and mope about like a pudding waiting for him to decide he needed her.

“I, uh, is that a good idea?”

“Maybe not, but it’s the plan for now.”

“Pansy,”

“Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it.” She hung up before he had a chance to argue.

 **Week 24**

Harry hated going to the healer. He hated going to the doctor. He hated being there for feminine things. Hell, what he really hated was being there because Pansy wanted to shag someone else. No wait, that’s not true. It wasn’t just _someone_ else, it was _anyone_ else.

Well, it’s your own fault, arse-biscuit, he admonished himself. He was the one that got up and left and didn’t call, didn’t even leave her a note.

“You’re such a trooper for coming with me.” Pansy patted his knee in a slightly condescending way.

“Ms. Parkinson?” Pansy stood up and Harry followed them into a sterile little room, which he also hated.

“If you’ll go ahead and take off your clothes and put this on,” the nurse handed Pansy a small paper-like sheath which Pansy accepted calmly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“What do you mean take off your clothes?” Harry growled.

Pansy smiled wanly and waited for the nurse to leave before speaking. “They have to check me, or so that’s what they said on the telly. It’s not a big deal.”

She didn’t tell him to turn around, but started shrugging off her clothes. If Harry hadn’t been a gentleman, he would have watched. Hell, part of his brain was screaming that he should be watching, because after all, _she didn’t ask him to turn around_! Which processed in his male brain, it was okay to look. Sometimes, it really sucked steaming donkey bollocks being the good guy.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Can you tie this for me? I can’t reach.” Pansy smiled and turned around, presented her naked backside for his assistance.

Without a word, Harry tied up the little ribbons and helped her up on the exam table.

A youngish looking woman opened the door after a brief knock to announce her presence and sat down looking over a sheaf of papers.

“So, Ms. Parkinson, Pansy.” The woman smiled. “I’m Doctor Smythe.”

“Hello.” Pansy said almost shyly.

“And this is?” Docotor Smythe looked to Harry.

“My parole officer.” Pansy said it without any shame as if it was perfectly natural for him to accompany her on such an intimate thing.

“I see. Would you like him to step out of the room?”

“No, no. I asked him to come.”

“You must be very devoted to your job, officer.”

Harry just nodded his head dumbly.

“Now, you’re here today for birth control options?”

“I read something about a Depo shot on Google?” Pansy was proud of herself then, of what she had learned on her own and that she could converse intelligently with this educated Muggle.

“Yes, that’s an option many women choose though there is a small chance for certain side effects that are more, shall we say, pronounced with the shot that with the patch or the pill.”

“Like what?”

“Bleeding, spotting over a series of about six months before your cycle adjusts. Weight gain, and sometimes worst case, a bit of hair loss.”

“Oh my Mer- god.”

“Weight gain is a possible side effect for most birth control options. Yasmin is a pill that women prone to trouble with their weight have had success with.”

“Let’s try that one.”

Dr. Smythe smiled. “You know at any time if you feel an option isn’t right for you just come back in and we’ll see what else we can find. We want to keep you healthy.”

Pansy nooded.

“Okay, let’s get you to lean back on the table and put your feet right here in the stirrups.” Dr. Smythe draped a sheet that looked like the same material as Pansy’s exam gown over her lap.

Pansy was about to comply when there was a knock on the door.

“I have a medical student, is it alright if she observes?”

Pansy wasn’t normally shy and this doctor seemed so professional, that she didn’t see why not.

“Okay.”

“Yes, come.” The doctor said.

Just as the door opened, the doctor pulled out a large and rather nasty looking tool.

“What the hell is that? And what are you…” Harry was too horrified to be polite.

“This is a speculum. We use it to spread the walls of,”

Harry held up his hand to cut her off. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He couldn’t hear anymore. He’d gone deaf and almost blind in a fight or flight response to this horror show. “That’s all, thanks.”

The doctor smiled indulgently, as if to say, I know that, stupid man.

“Angelina, could you please get me a bigger tool?”

“Excuse me?” Pansy popped up from where she was laying, still spread-eagle. “Can you please not refer to my parts and tools?”

The doctor smiled again, but more softly.

Angelina, in a rush to do as the doctor had asked and eager to learn had knocked over the lamp on her way out the door. Flustered, Angelina tried to stand the lamp back up, but was unable to get it to stand on its own.

“Get the speculum, then get someone else to come in to hold the lamp.”

Angelina scurried out the door and returned with another young woman and another, even larger and meaner looking tool.

The girl held the lamp and Angelina moved to the opposite side of the doctor.

“You’re going to feel a bit of pressure.” The doctor said softly as she inserted the tool.

Pansy gasped and breathed out heavily.

When Dr. Smythe heard a loud noise, she looked up from her work to see that Angelina had left the door cracked open. Not only did Dr. Smythe have a medical student, but today was the tour for the new class that would be rotating through her office. If a door was left open, that usually meant that the patient had given permission and before she could say anything, students had begun to file into the room.

Pansy was not happy to say the least. But rather than be embarrassed, or cry like she was seriously thinking about, she got mad.

“Is there a debutante ball down in my quim and you were all invited without my knowledge? Get out! Get OUT!”

“I apologize,” Dr. Smythe began.

“I said GET OUT!”

Harry reached over and snatched the “tool” out of Pansy and flung it on the floor like some kind of large and disgusting dead bug. He was tempted to run over to it and stomp it just to make sure that it wasn’t going to get up and chase her.

Not giving a blue damn about propriety, Harry gathered Pansy to him, paper dress and all and carried her from the room. When he was in the alley, he Apparated to her flat. Being an officer of the law and whatnot, he could do things like that.

“It’s a good thing that I went with you. That was horrible. You should never do that again. And you don’t need to be shagging Muggles.” He wanted to add that the only one that she would be shagging in the near and maybe distant future, was going to be him.

“Yes, thank you for coming.” Pansy said, ever correct.

“I know that all of the Charms that were placed on you were stripped from you when you came to live as a Muggle, but I will get you a potion, if you really want it. You should never have to endure something like that ever again.” Harry said quietly.

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” Harry still hadn’t put her down. He carried her into the bedroom and deposited her softly on the bed.

He didn’t ask if he could stay, but lay down beside her and gathered her to him and ran his fingers softly up and down her back.

“Harry,”

“Shh. It’ll be alright. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

Harry’s promises were gold. So Pansy slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Week 34**

They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, yet it wasn’t something they’d talked about. There had been no boundaries set, no titles given…

After Harry had stayed the night, he came over every night after work, they spent every free moment together.

They slept together in the same bed, but they hadn’t yet consummated their relationship.

Pansy didn’t count that time before when Cupid’s bottom had landed on his head. It was almost like it hadn’t happened.

For a brief moment, Pansy wondered if Harry was gay and she’d fallen in love with… Oh Merlin! She’d become one of those awful Fag Hags! Not the cigarette chasing sort of hag, either.

Worse! She was in love.

This was not how these things were supposed to happen. Not at all. He was supposed to fall in love with her. She was supposed to really like the sex and be able to make him do anything that she wanted him to do, just to get back in her cunny. Yes, that was how things were supposed to happen.

He had her chasing his cock and spouting off at the suckhole about silly tripe like love. Oh, dear Hell! How had this happened?

Well, it could still be okay. It could still work for her. It was only that the things she wanted him to do had changed. She wanted him to love her.

Pansy could do this. She’d been living as a Muggle for how long now? She could do anything!

That whole jealousy thing with the Muggle birth control hadn’t worked out so well. Or had it?

 **Week 35**

Harry was sure that he was in hell.

That was the only explanation for it, really.

Every night he got to sleep with Pansy in his arms. Why, oh why, should that be hell? Because he didn’t want to sleep. In fact, it took him hours and hours and every inch of self-control to lay there and not shag the wench silly. He got about two hours of sleep a night. That was it.

Yeah, so what if he’d already tagged it once? That didn’t mean that she wanted to again. She hadn’t given him any indication that that’s what she was after. She snuggled into him every night, laid her head on his chest to go to sleep and then promptly turned over and pressed her delectable arse up against him, while she slept.

He wasn’t going to molest her in her sleep, though the idea was beginning to have merit.

She cooked him breakfast every morning, they read the paper together in silence, then they would chat over coffee before he had to leave for work.

When he got home, she made him dinner and sometimes he would take her out. Half of his clothes had migrated to her closet and he had a toothbrush in the holder on the sink.

Home.

He’d just thought of her flat as home. Harry just realized that he’d been doing so for awhile. Stupid git.

He had two options, he could just distance himself now or he could try to tell her that she was the one. Either way, it seemed like their friendship was going to have to change.

That scared the hell out of him.

He still had nightmares, sometimes. Violent, raging things that brought out the dark side that was still there in his most secret places. Pansy had been there to soothe him, a cool cloth and her hands on his face, in his hair, telling him that it would be alright. In that deep part of the night, with her touch and his head on her breast, he believed her.

Harry straightened his trousers and his shirt and headed out to the table where he smelled bangers and mash. Yum! Especially Pansy’s. Morrigan, but that witch could cook!

Pansy was already sitting at the table, sipping some pumpkin juice, wrapped in her Donna Karan silk robe. That witch even Muggled with style.

“Harry?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked casually, taking another sip of her juice.

Harry crammed two forkfuls into his mouth before he answered.

She wrinkled her little nose. “So, you have to think about it?” That would mean he hadn’t noticed, or didn’t think so.

“Woman, letting me chew my food doesn’t mean I have to think about it. I’m a simple creature, Pans. Really. I just wanted to eat. It smells so good…” The chewing continued.

“I see.” Pansy snatched the plate away from him. “So, am I?”

“What?” He looked at the plate longingly.

“Pretty, you arse. If you make me ask again,” she let the threat hang.

“Yes, you’re beautiful. The most divine creature put upon the earth. Can I have my food back?”

“No. You don’t really think so. You just want your plate back.”

“There is no denying that I want my plate. Wouldn’t you be offended if I didn’t, hmm? You went to all that work to cook for me, I’m just trying to show my appreciation. It’s so good. I want to eat it while it’s still hot.”

Pansy found herself beaming against her will. “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to be in Slytherin?”

“Nope.” He grinned as he shoved another forkful into his mouth after sliding the plate away from her slowly like she was a wild animal.

“You still didn’t answer.”

“Yes, I did. I said that you were and I quote, the most beautiful and divine creature put upon the earth.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really, Harry. Be honest.”

Harry froze. This was it. This was his chance to tell her everything, but he wasn’t ready! He hadn’t prepared, he hadn’t thought about…

He reached across the table and cupped her face in his palm, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Pansy, you know you’re beautiful.”

“My features please me, but do they please you? Am I beautiful,” she said this next bit quietly. “To you.” She looked up at him, her violet eyes large and bright with some unknown emotion.

He realized then that she was in the same predicament that he was in and she didn’t know what to do, that this was as important to her as it was to him.

Harry forgot all about what was left on his plate and turned the entirety of his focus to her. He moved to her side, still touching her cheek and slid the other hand down the swan-like arch of her neck; down to the edge of her robe where his fingers met with delicate bare skin.

“Are you asking if I want you?” His hands slid her robe from her shoulders.

“Yes. I sleep next to you every night, yet you don’t touch me.”

“I’m touching you now.”

“Yes, but are you going to act like you didn’t when it’s over? Are you going to leave me?” Pansy hated how needy she sounded, she was disgusted with herself.

“No, Pansy.” He hauled her up on the kitchen table spreading her robe behind her. “Let me show you.”

She leaned back and allowed whatever he would have of her. Pansy felt like a shameless wanton, splayed so before him. She loved it.

Harry knelt between her thighs and tasted her, his breath ghosting over her swollen flesh and his tongue parting her like the unfurled petals of a flower.

“I want to watch you come.” A finger replaced his tongue on her clit, while another slid inside of her. “Your hair cascading down your back like a dark waterfall, your pristine thighs spread wide for me, your lip plump from biting down against the sensation… Come for me, Pansy.”

He slid another finger inside of her and she tilted her hips to meet his caress.

“Why is it,” she panted, and ground herself against him. “That you always have so much fucking control?”

Pansy propped herself on her elbows to look at him, though she threw her head back as she cried out.

“Because I want you to know that I’m not just after your quim.” He said as she bore down on his fingers.

 **Week 45**

Well, Harry definitely wasn’t gay! That was good news. He was just a gentleman. He still hadn’t confessed his undying love or anything, but Pansy was sure that would come.

Come.

She cringed and crossed her legs. Merlin, she was sore. But she wore a satisfied grin bold as you please, for all to see.

Harry Potter, good-boy extraordinaire had given Pansy Parkinson, the most jaded female Slytherin had to offer, not only a run for her money, but the ride of her life. Color her surprised.

And thrilled, and happy, and… completely head over arse.

Everything over arse. They’d shagged on just about every surface in her flat. He’d shagged her at the cinema, in the auto, on the auto, on the steps to her flat…

Good thing he was allowed to use certain magics in the Muggle world.

He’d done things to her with his wand that she wasn’t even sure she could repeat out loud.

She wondered what was going to happen once her Muggling was over. She couldn’t wait to get back to the wizarding world, to her family, to her life.

Though, life had definitely happened while she’d been gone.

Her mum was all for the match, she wouldn’t have to change her monogram. She was fairly excited to meet Harry. Not that she’d mentioned that he was THE Harry Potter. Not that there could be any other, but her mother was a bit out of touch with the times. She’d only gotten the Dumblenet to stay in touch with Pansy. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered.

Pansy turned to look at Harry who was a few vendors down and smiled. They’d gone to the open air market for some fresh bread and had gotten sidetracked.

Harry loved to shop. (No, really, he’s not gay.) Growing up as he did, everything a hand-me-down, or never really feeling as if anything belonged to him, he liked to buy things. He was content to hang out with Pansy and browse the vendors all day, if she wanted to.

He crossed back over to her and kissed the curve of her neck beneath her hair. “I lo…” Harry cut himself off.

It wasn’t that he was afraid, it was that they were going back to a different world soon. Or at least, she was. He still had a job to do. She might not want the same things.

“Me too.” She grinned at him and kissed him hard on the mouth before twirling away from him to inspect something shiny that caught her eye.

It turned out that the shiny thing was a candy wrapper. She wasn’t quite sure what they were, but they looked tasty. They were an American import, Tart N’Tinys.

She paid for the box and popped it open. After tasting one, and liking the sour sensation after the sweet, promptly dumped about half the box in her mouth.

When Harry caught up to her, he spun her around and bent her back. A very dramatic pose. Then he kissed her for all that he was worth.

There is not enough room in the human mouth for one tongue, teeth, and half a box of Tart N’Tinys. Let alone two tongues.

Pansy choked and spluttered, sending the little candies shooting out of her nose in rain of Technicolor BBs.

The green ones were especially mortifying.

Harry tried extremely hard not to cackle like a frantic goose. He tried.

“I was going to…” he paused to try and steal a breath before another fit of laughter took him. “Ask you something,” he drew in big gulps of air in a failed coup to breathe. “But, I’ll…” He snorted. “Later.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Week 52**

 

“So, you never did ask me what you were going to ask me that day in the market.” Pansy said as she stuffed a few things into a box.

“What about this? Does this go?” Harry held up a very ugly, and disturbing painting of a clown with big, sad eyes and a phallically large red nose.

“Toss it. I don’t even know why I bought it.”

Harry dropped it to a pile that was next to the door. “Nope, I didn’t ask you that question did I?”

“Are you going to?”

“Nope.”

“What?” She practically screeched.

“I decided not to.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Because.”

She sighed. “Because why?”

“Because I decided to ask you a different question.”

“Which would be?”

“Not ready to ask you yet.”

“When will you be ready?”

“Pushy, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” She didn’t bother to deny it.

“I was going to ask you that if you thought that things would have turned out this way with any parole officer that you’d been assigned to because it was your only link with home.”

“Wow. That’s kind of depressing to think about.” She sighed again. “Want an honest answer?”

“No, I asked because I want you to lie to me.”

“Whoever it was, I’m pretty sure I would have shagged him. Unless it was Ron, because I still see him with slugs coming out of his mouth. I just couldn’t do it.”

“What if it was a woman? What if it was Ginny?”

Pansy seemed to consider for a moment. “Yeah, I probably would have slept with her too.”

“Oh yeah, because, she’s my secretary you know. I could call her and…” Harry grinned.

“Why is it that wizards always want to be included when witches make out, even though it’s not for their benefit? I mean…”

“I don’t have to be included. I just want to watch.”

“Really?”

“No.” Harry became serious. “Just because I occasionally play well with others doesn’t mean I want to share.”

“Good. Because I’m not sharing. That’s mine!”

“I don’t see your name on it.” He teased.

“I do.” Pansy shot back.

“I have another question for you.”

“Ask away.”

“Could you live a half-Muggle life?”

“With you?”

“Yeah, with me. Until we’re old and diapered?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not changing your diaper. We have house elves for that.”

“I’m hurt. I’d change yours. Even knowing the certain death that awaited me there.”

“You said you’d never mention that!” She was aghast.

“Oh no, my love. You’re mine. All of you. Even your scary arse.”

“I seem to remember you said delectable.” A voice sounded from the corner of the room.

They both turned toward the sound.

“You heard it too, I’m not stark, raving mad?”

“I’ll never say that, but yes, I heard it.”

“Enough! Stop with the verbal sparring and get to it. I can’t take the tension anymore. Just ask her. Ask her so I can leave!” Cupid snapped as he appeared, gleaming in the sunlight.

“Funny how we were just talking about diapers.” Harry offered.

“It’s not a diaper, it’s a loincloth.”

“Then why is your Dumblechat is DiaperedArcher?”

“Finally figured that out, have you?”

“You said my arse was delectable? When?”

“That day in his office. Shut-up and let him talk, Pansy.” Cupid coughed and indicated for Harry to continue.

“I’m getting there. Go away. We don’t need you, really.”

“I seem to remember Aphrodite coming to get you…” Pansy poked.

“Fine, I’m going. But you should know,”

“Thank you, Cupid. Now, if you please.” Harry said cordially.

After it looked like he was gone, Pansy looked back to Harry shyly. “You were saying?”

“I seem to have lost my train of thought.” Harry said cheerfully.

“For the love of HELL,”

“I knew he wasn’t gone.” Pansy grinned.

“Ah, well. He has helped us this far.” Harry shrugged and took Pansy’s hand. “As I was saying, you know what I do for a living. You know that I live in both worlds. Can you do that too? Would you do that?”

“For you? Yes.” She said without hesitation.

“Then I have another question.”

“I might have another answer.” Pansy gave him a broad smile.

“Will you let me see your face every morning when I get up, will you be in my arms every night when I go sleep, and finally, will you let me hold your hand when the sun sets on the world for the last time? I love you, Pansy. Marry me.”

Later, she would think that she should have said that it was more than one question, but all she wanted to say was yes, though all she could manage was a vigorous nod before she was crushed to him and he made love to her there on the Abusson rug in front of the fire.

A total cliché in every sense, but perfect nonetheless.

And Cupid, all he wanted to say was, damn that was slick. Thankfully, discretion was the better part of… whatever. His job was done.

 

The End


End file.
